


Wicked Girls

by bhaer



Category: Little Women - Louisa May Alcott
Genre: Adultery, F/M, Lesbian Undertones, Sibling Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 17:10:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bhaer/pseuds/bhaer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jo falls into a terrible passion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wicked Girls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cathalin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathalin/gifts).



“It seems as if I could do anything when I'm in a passion. I get so savage, I could hurt anyone and enjoy it. I'm afraid I shall do something dreadful some day, and spoil my life, and make everybody hate me.”

 

* * *

 

His breath is hot on her neck and she thinks, clearly and unobstructed by the haze of lust, that this is wrong. She can’t recall the correct Bible verse (Paul? A letter?) with Laurie thrusting in and out of her, but she knows, in the same way she knows that Amy is beautiful, that making love to Amy’s husband is, unspeakably, wrong.

_Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife._

It echos somewhere deep in the recesses of her mind and she pays it no mind.

Laurie is sweaty and warm and she tries to burrow into his chest and he is barraging her with kisses and there is something missing. He is moaning and Jo laughs because God, he sounds so silly but it is also to hide the emptiness boring deep into his chest, aching somewhere between her ribs, and almost suffocating her from the inside.

She had been worried, childishly, about the pain. Meg and Marmee spoke of it in giggly whispers, of blood and tearing and a gasping burn. There was none of that. Laurie either knew some secret that John did not, or Jo was different from other women. She knows that is true regardless, so she resolves, in the absence of pain, to try and enjoy herself. Jo laughs. She places messy kisses, wet and salty, on his chest. She jiggles against his cock.

_Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife._

When Laurie caresses her breasts with his tongue, she is able, for one glorious moment, to look at his women’s lips and feel an ounce of electricity in her belly. Then he moves to her neck and she sees the thick growth of auburn hair on his own chest and the sensation is gone. Jo laughs.

After he spills his seed on her thighs, Laurie is strangely lethargic. He curls up under the little red blanket that Beth knitted (oh God, don’t think about Beth of all people) and begins to snore lightly. She is trapped under his perspiring, lumpy, hairy form.

Something like regret seeps in, wet and cold and Oh my God.

_Thou Shalt Not Covet Thy Neighbor’s Wife._

Jo falls asleep weeping.

The next morning, Laurie is gone; off to his own home, to his own wife. Jo awake in a burst of agony that comes out in choking sobs as she brushes out her hair. Her little pillow smells like sandalwood, his favorite cologne. Her dress, plain and patched, suddenly looks sensuous and dirty as she contemplates the feel of Laurie’s breath on her neck, hands reaching to undo the buttons Marmee sewed on with wrinkled and trembling fingers. Nothing is right so Jo decides, feeling thoroughly sorry for herself, to spend the day wrapped in her comforter at her little tin desk.

She writes. She writes of meeting Laurie in Concord’s tiny general store and feeling her heart flutter in her chest. She writes of feeling his pulse in his hand. She writes of Amy, always beautiful, wrapped in silks and ribbons, embroidering at home and watching their five dozen blond children waltz in time. She writes of the initial flirtation. She writes of drowning one desire in another. She writes until there’s no more to say and she’s shaking and cold.

“I am cold without him here,” she writes, and then crosses out the line because it isn’t true. Life was cold and grey before Laurie and would be cold and grey after him. Life is cold and grey when you are Jo March and you covet everyone’s wife and steal their husbands and wrap yourself in words that will mean nothing when you die.

There is nothing for it. She dresses quickly and ties up her hair where it cannot surprise her, and she goes to visit her sister.

Amy is supervising Little Josephine’s education, teaching the angelic cherub her letters. Jo wants to pull the girl away from the chalkboard and scream that writing A’s and B’s will do you no good. It means nothing to be able to pen some clever letters and some morbid plays. Use your energy, what little you have, and brush that thick golden hair. Bite at your lips until they are red. It will not make you happy, but you will be happier. Jo knows that in life it is often a matter of happy and happier.

Jo is content. Laurie is happy. Amy is happier.

“Laurie said you were charming last night,” Amy drawls, the edges of her nostrils flaring slightly. Jo, whose own temper has been released to the wind and sky, sees the telltale signs of a hidden menace. She treads carefully with a pleading look at the little namesake.

“I’m so sorry. It all happened so fast. I…”

“A, B, C,” repeats Josephine. Amy gently pinches her plump cheek and smoothes her skirts.

“Laurie said you were charming last night. Like a little girl.”

“Amy, I can’t ever… I have this hole, you see. This hole where my heart should be and I know you can never forgive me but I want to make it up to you! I don’t know how! I’ll do something. Honest, Amy. Let me fix this.”

Amy raises a single eyebrow.

“He said you were like a little girl. Like a little girl who doesn’t know what she wants.” She let out a tinkling little laugh. “Isn’t my husband handsome enough for you? Or are your tastes more… delicate.”

“Laurie was… Oh God, this isn’t about him. Christopher Columbus, let me make it up. Let me apologize. Will you accept my apology? I’ll get on my hands and knees for you, Amy.”

“A, B, C, D, E…”

“You’re a wicked, wicked girl, Jo March,” Amy said coldly with a twirl of her upper lip.

“A, B, C…”


End file.
